Proms, Pubs, and Roommates Hetalia AU
by Taylor Padfoot
Summary: Arthur was a loner by definition; only important to those who needed homework done. So when popular new student starts to pay him mind, Arthur isn't sure how to handle or cope with it. How would you handle falling in love with your best guy mate?
1. And So It Begins

_**Fanfiction Name**__: Proms and Pubs (Hetalia AU Fanfiction UKxUSxUK)_

_**Chapter Name**__: And So It Begins_

_**Chapter Summary**__: Life for Arthur had always been a set schedule and rule. He'd been pretty much by himself at school and finally learned to be content with it. But after an unexpected new student graces the halls of Academy Hetalia, Arthur isn't exactly sure how to react._

_**Genre**__: T Romance/Humor_

_**Author's Note**__: My best friend and I were sitting in our honors math class and I was doing what all honors students do; not paying attention. I'd become accustomed to writing in a little notebook during most classes but, like every other writer, I was suffering from the dreaded Writer's Block. So, my best friend decided to give me a simple prompt: France as a teacher. She said the rest of the story was up to me and to do with it what I pleased. And slowly, this became the beginning of the seven-part story before you. _

_I do not own Hetalia in anyway shape or form. The situations are meant purely for fan enjoyment and nothing else. This has the rating "T" for language and anything else that might come up soon. This is a UKxUSxUK with random little other pairings hidden in it because, after all, it is high school and everyone has someone in high school. -sarcasm- Anyway__..._

_I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. So without further ado…_

"All right, mes chéris, today we have a new student. Make him welcome."

If you'd asked me why I came to Academy Hetalia, I'd tell you my father made me. I'd say that I wanted to do something simple with my life and that he forced me into the diplomatic community. I _wouldn't_ tell you how I'd dreamed of the school since I was a child or that I nearly exploded when I received my acceptance letter. You'd also never know that I was the child who detested leaving it every summer or the one who kept a countdown on my bedroom wall that marked the days until I returned. It wasn't that I hated living in Britain or anything that made me so anxious to leave it, I preferred to think it was because I loved it so much I couldn't wait to return as an adult and help my beloved country. I even went as far as calling myself Britain or the United Kingdom in the same manner other students called themselves by their own country name. You see the school was a boarding school for future ambassadors and government workers. Each country sent forward a single student to go through the program then returned home to help run their home country.

Another thing you'd never know about me is how much I loved the campus and my lonely little flat (you probably call them apartments or dorm rooms). Or rather, how much I deceived myself into liking it. Sure, the campus was charming and my dorm was to my standards, but things seem a little bleaker when you're by yourself.

"The name's Alfred F. Jones," he announced to a class of impressed boys, swooning girls, and then me. "The 'F' stands for Freedom," he winked and kissed one of the tittering girls' hands which sent her up into a stream of high pitched squeals.

_Ugh_, _freshmen_…

I didn't need Dr. Frog's explanation to figure out he was an America. He was loud, boisterous, and obnoxious; he didn't need the American flag backpack or the French fanfare to giveaway his heritage.

I could barely bring myself to pay attention to my professor's flowery welcome speech, spending the time thinking about how he had as much right to be teaching a class as did a monkey. Perhaps less. It wasn't that I hated him; it was just hard to take him seriously considering how well I knew him. He was only three years older than I was, in actuality. It was torture attempting to focus on his lectures about sewing when I could see a miniature Francis Bonnefoy with his mother's bra on his head, running through my mind's eye.

I called him "professor" to his face and tried to be as respectful to him as my pride would allow. Though it was hard to respect a man whose teaching degree was as good as a cereal box prize and he also had relationships with students. Matthew Williams, the almost invisible Canadian representative, was seven years younger which made it even more unprofessional. Of course, the school board seemed to turn a blind eye to it so I had no ground to argue it.

You'd never hear me admit that I found them a fitting couple what with Francis' flamboyant and obvious sexual jabs against Matthew's quiet and demure manner. It was rather ironic that a man of Francis' taste and caliber could care for the cautious and silent Canadian. But when the two were alone, there was a side of Francis no one had seen before that turned him into nearly a different person. In all honesty, it was a definite improvement.

I'd still been contemplating their relationship when the vacant seat beside me piped up.

"Hiya! I'm Alfred! You can feel free to call me Al or Alfy or the Hero or…"

Alright, I'll admit it, I jumped. Wouldn't you if the vacant seat beside you started talking?

Even if it wasn't the seat and it was a person, it was still shocking. I could care less what he wanted me to call him, when I was more confused as to why he was sitting there. It was only then I noticed that that had been the only vacant seat save Matthew's partner seat. While Matthew was alone, Francis would never willingly give away that seat, leaving Matthew to always have to work with the teacher. So that meant I was to be subjected to the American's senseless yammering as his partner. Someone shoot me.

"…or Liberty or Justice or Dr. Jones or Mr. Jones or…"

I let my eyes wandered towards his face, getting my first good look at him since he'd stepped into the Home Ec. classroom (I wouldn't be in there if it wasn't mandatory). He was handsome, I guessed by Wang Yao and her oriental friends' standards. He was pale in comparison to Antonio and the Vergas brothers but darker than I was (probably those stupid American beaches). A pair of slim glasses sat on the bridge of his nose jerking every time he moved his head one way or the other. His eyes were closed but it was well compensated for by his thin mouth moving like an incessant motor, stopping only to take an occasional breath. His dirt blonde hair was set in a disheveled way (probably stylish compared to my haphazard hair) with one poignant piece of hair standing on end. Was that normal? Then again Roderich and the Vergas brothers seemed to have no problem with their own odd curls.

I spent the last several minutes of class imagining ways of shutting up that boy. Some of my favorites involved the duct tape in the bottom drawer, Ivan's lead pipe, a semi-automatic, or a combination of the three. It wasn't that I hated him, he was alright in his own unique way, but he was something new and exotic to complain about in my little world. Considering the free time that I was left to, there was rarely anything better to do.

"…or Freddy or Alfred. Anything really!"

Either by pure luck or excellent timing, he shut up just as the lunch bell rang to dismiss class. Dr. Frog shouted instructions at the disengaged class before giving up and turning to talk to his favorite student. I was in the midst of gather my books up when something nudged my shoulder. At first I assumed it was an accident on the American's part, brushing it off and ignoring it, until he did it again.

"Hey, dude, I never caught _your_ name."

I turned around to face him, slightly irritated to interrupted from something as important as packing up my books. My first instinct was to snap at him and tell him off, but I found myself a bit dazed by the brilliant smile on his face.

_Must be an American thing_.

For the first time since I'd seen him, I got a clear view of his eyes. Nothing spectacular, really. A simple shade of blue with flecks of lighter blue in them. Great, like we needed another blue eyed blonde on the campus, I thought, shooting a look at the student-teacher pair at the front of the room.

"My name's Arthur," I replied dryly, "Nice to meet you, Alfred."

The American scrunched his nose up at the name, "Arthur? That's so old school! How about Artie?"

His whole face lit up with amusement while I fought off a scowl, "I'd rather that you call me—"

"Yeah! Artie! I like that! How about you?"

"Like I said, Alfred," I attempted again.

"Sweet! Artie it is!"

Obviously those glasses of his did little to nothing for his actual eyesight considering his missed the obvious grimace I gave in response.

"Well, I guess I gotta go," he smiled broadly, "See you around!"

I winced inwardly as the American left, leaving me alone with Matthew and frog-face. It was beyond me how a boy that unobservant and with a vocabulary like that managed to make it into the academy. I brushed it off, slung my messenger pack over my shoulder and picked up my remaining books. By tonight he wouldn't remember my name other than to ask if he could copy my homework, just like everyone else.

"Sa la vie," I murmured and walked outside into the rain, away from the guaranteed noise of the cafeteria and towards the welcoming vacancy of the library.

**** Sa la vie – **_**Such **__**is**__** life**_

**Thank you for reading. Hope you like it. I will not object to anyone reviewing, it is completely welcomed. I will attempt to update week-by-week as my schedule allows. **

**Oh and, one more thing, for those of you who noticed: yes, I'm calling China a chick. I think in the anime she is because she certainly acts like one… But if you're under the impression Wang Yao's a boy then just simply call it gender-bending. **

**Until next time; Keep it real! ;]**


	2. This Means War

_**Fanfiction Name**__: Proms and Pubs_

_**Chapter Name**__: This Means War_

_**Chapter Summary**__: Arthur loves the library except when it's full. So to get a reprieve from the nuisances in his usual place, he retreats to his room. But his empty room's not quite as empty and he's not sure how to deal with a new roommate._

_**Genre**__: T Romance/Humor_

_**Author's Note**__: I still don't own Hetalia so just enjoy the story line (which I do own)_

If there's anything I hate more than an empty library, it's a full one. In all honesty, it's hard to hide from the librarian and eat your lunch in an empty isle but it's even worse trying to do it in one crammed full of other people doing God knows what.

It was rare for the library ever to be that full, save during a storm or the week before exams. Most students found the foul odor, incessant chatter, and repulsive meals of the outdoor cafeteria more inviting for lunch than the dank and dreary library. But whenever the sky threatened the slightest shade of grey, students flocked in like it was Noah's ark. It was beyond me as to why it was less appealing during the sunny days but I didn't mind; it seemed a lot friendlier when empty.

So after being on the receiving end of too many accusatory glares and being uprooted from one too many spots by boisterous couples, I headed back into the rain towards my flat.

Between the lashing downpour, gritty sand, and lack of true walkways I wasn't even half-way to my room when the mire began to weigh my feet down. I was rather surprised that I hadn't turned into a walking mud-man by the time I reached the door which, to my bewilderment, was open.

I hesitantly pushed it forward, a low whine sounded as it moved back on its ancient hinges. The room was dimply lit and from what I could see at the threshold, it was still in the same condition I'd left it. I tried to take in more of it from the front door as I pulled my shoes and jacket off without seeing much altercation. But the farther I walked in, the more and more it changed.

Now, to note, I am not what you might call a "neat freak." I just believe that everything has its place, and as such, should be in that place. When I left my room before my first class, everything had been in its place. The bed had been made, trunk closed, floor cleaned, and books put up on the shelving. But as my steps carried me farther into the flat, I could see tell-tale signs of another person. For starters, mud tracks mapped the path from the front door to the bathroom. As I looked to my cupboard, a foreign yellow duffel bag laid out in front with its contents strewn about like some catastrophic explosion. I picked my way through trousers, shirts and jackets as I followed the sludge tracks. My eyes collided next though with my previously immaculate bed. The pair of mud-stained boots sat on the floor beside while a star-spangled knapsack sat on the edge of my bed. But the most shocking sight was the person in the bed.

Lounged out like he owned the place, that cocky American boy from my previous class smiled up at me with that 600 watt smile. He yanked his headset from his ears and turned off the device he'd been blasting his music through.

His dirty blonde hair was plastered to his face from the rain, except for that one piece which stuck up like a crude antennae. His uniform white shirt and blue sweater clung to his body, meaning he couldn't have been here that long. Maybe I could still save washing my bed. He still looked like a drowned rat (not that I probably looked any better).

Now that he was up though, the large wet spot on my Union Jack blanket was obvious despite the lack of lighting. I barely heard his rowdy greeting as I flicked on a nearby lamp. Only then did the magnitude of the whole situation strike me.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY FLAT?"

The American gaped up at me; I obviously didn't give him the response he'd been hoping for. He ran his fingers through his hair with a slightly confused expression on his face.

"Come again?"

I glared fervently, gesturing wildly at the room before attempting to piece my answer together. "You… I… Did you… How did… Are you a complete git or just a partial one? What are _you_ doing in _my_ room, on _my_ bed?"

He stared at me, a puzzled expression on his face. Finally, a look of comprehension dawned on his simple features, immediately followed by a slightly sheepish look.

"Wow, this is so confusing! The headmaster guy informed me that you already knew about this. Obviously you don't but, Artie," he paused before blurting out, "I'm your new roommate."

To be honest, I can't quite tell you what my face looked like. I imagine from the slight smile the American gave, it was rather amusing. I, however, was anything but amused at the moment. Yes, I had wanted a roommate for the whole eleven years I'd been there and, yes, I did then too. But at the moment I was anything but grateful for the egotistical, hero-complex, meathead American I'd been stuck with. Sure, I'd talked to him for a total of maybe a minute (not including his ten minute spiel on what I could or could not call him) and perhaps I was being a bit judgmental but I had a good reason. Why would an _American_ treat me any differently than Europeans did? As far as I was concerned, he'd already been drafted in with the other arseholes that went to school. So, that meant treating him just like the other jerks.

I continued to glare fervently at the bemused looking American, pointing at my now ruined bed, "That's my bed."

Even in my ears the words sounded incredibly lame and I'd said that before but he seemed to miss that. His blue eyes widened and he actually appeared slightly apologetic. He turned around and picked up his boots and moved them away from the bed, "I'm sorry," he began, "I had no idea anyone else was here."

The words contradicted what he just said and he even seemed to notice that. He set the boots back down and held up his hands in a surrendering way, "Look. When they assigned me the room I thought it'd been a mistake and I was alone. Well, I know they said I had a roommate but it was so clean I just assumed no one else lived here."

I breezed past the American and yanked the blanket off of the bed, turning to face him, "USE YOUR GLASSES! What does it look like? It's a bleeding Union Jack! Who else but me would put one of these in a bedroom? I know I didn't talk to you but could you not notice the damn accent? It's kind of effing hard to miss!"

He stared at me with a rather affronted look on his face. With a roll of his blue eyes he crossed his arms across his chest and snorted softly, "Wow, someone's PMSing or something. Relax, will ya? It's a dumb blanket. I already said I was sorry…"

My hands started to knead into the blanket as he continued to argue that it wasn't a big deal. On many accounts, and for many reasons, I'd love nothing more than to box his ears (that is, slap him senseless). What part of "messing my room up" was still struggling to get through to his small brain? _Damn Americans._

Instead of a deliciously violent method of retaliation (or asking Ivan to make him 'go away'), I threw the blanket back onto the bed and bunged his knapsack at him (meaning I threw it. Sometimes I forget I'm talking to foreigners). Without a single word I spun him around and shoved him at the opposite bed.

"What the hell—"

"That's your bed, twit—"

"I have a name!" he hissed at me.

"And I have personal space," I countered.

"Look, you damn Brit, mine was an accident!" he slammed his bag onto the bed and faced me, "I don't want to be your enemy, you seem like a cool dude," I snorted as he continued, "but if you can't treat me with all the rights and respects that I deserve…" he let his voice trail.

"What are you going to do? Dazzle me?" I sneered and sat down on the edge of my own bed.

The American, probably under the impression he was being the bigger person, turned his back to me and began to unpack.

For some reason, it felt extremely good spreading the feelings of anger I'd been feeling. Maybe in my loner-geared mind, I was getting the better of everyone else who'd ever knowingly (or unknowingly) done the same to me … or some other bullocks my therapist used to shove down my throat.

He used to tell me to write my feelings down or some other crud. At the age of ten years old it'd been a perfectly acceptable method of venting my anger. I'd started it because my eccentric mother tried to force me into becoming a little girl. Simply, I was an only child except my mother wanted a daughter instead of a son. Until I was six, she put me in dresses and my father never knew about it. Along with that I was taught things deemed "proper" for a young lady: embroidery, knitting, cooking, cleaning… So, yes, when my father found out I spent the next four years in therapy and learning important things like fencing and wood work. By the time I was sent off to Academy Hetalia, I could shoot and wield a sword better than most boys my age. My father said that I took to it like a fish to water which tended to set off my therapist who said I should refrain from violent activities especially when I was angry. Did carving wood with a hunter's knife count as violent?

Either way, I sat down in the half-light of the flat, whittling away into a piece of wood I'd found nearly a week ago on the grounds. Currently it was looking like some disfigured ghoul, like an Easter Island Tiki face but more grotesque. I was focused into the work when a voice broke through my haze.

"You hate me because of the whole American Revolution thing, don't you? You hate me because I won."

Looking up at him, I narrowed my eyes and bared my teeth, "Bugger. Off."

"What?"

I directed my head down into the wood, not feeling like explaining myself. Instead I just started humming some song I'd had stuck in my head for weeks. Suddenly a completely foreign tune mingled with mine; the American. So, I started singing it out loud.

"…calls to me and speaks my name. And do I dream again…"

"…I've taken my bows and my curtain calls. You've brought me…"

He raised his voice in a pitiful attempt to drown me out.

"Sing once again with me, our strange duet. My power over you grows stronger yet…"

"…no bed of roses. No pleasure cruise. I consider it a challenge before the whole human…"

"…AND THOUGH YOU TURN FROM ME TO GLANCE BEHIND…!"

"…RACE AND I NEVER LOSE! I AM THE HERO…"

"…THE PHAN.."

"…MY FRIENDS…!

"…TOM OF THE…"

"…AND I'LL KEEP ON WINNING—"

"NEINE! SHUT UP YOU TWO BEFORE I SHUT YOU UP MYSELF!"

Our mouths snapped shut and we both stared warily at the adjacent wall. Sometimes I forgot that Ludwig roomed next door, except when he thought I was getting "too loud". My eyes wandered to the American who was hunched down into his bed, azure eyes wide open.

"What was that?" he whispered severely, pointing an accusing finger at the door.

I smirked, enjoying the slightly frightened tone in his voice, "That's Ludwig Weillschmidt. He's the German delegate and my— excuse me, _our_," I hissed the word out like it pained me, "next-door neighbor."

For awhile the only sound to break the stone cold silent was the sound of metal against wood and angry German cursing. By the time the American responded, I almost forgot he was there.

"Is he always like that?"

"No, not unless we're loud or anyone messes with Feliciano," I murmured.

"His brother?"

"No," I paused to focus on the project at hand, "It's his boyfriend."

Once again the room was silent and I assumed that he began to unpack again. When I chanced a glance up at him again, his face was set into a comical gape with his eyes about ready to pop out of his head.

"Boyfriend?" he scoffed.

Afraid if I spoke, I'd explode into laughter, I just nodded my head. So he was one of _those _Americans, eh? He looked shocked—no scandalized—that there were same sex relationships here. He probably came here to escape those back home. In all honesty though, it wasn't that common at Academy Hetalia. Most delegates were men and the few that were women had their pick. The men though not handpicked by the few ladies either had girlfriends back home or were secretly crushing on one of the girls and were too timid to ask them out. But, there were exceptions to every rule, like Ludwig and Feliciano or Antonio and Lovino (whether Lovino would admit it) or even Francis and Matthew. It was a common rarity.

The next hour and a half my roommate and I avoided speaking while I finished woodworking and he packing. Only when two o'clock rolled around did I budge from my perch on the bed. I gathered my messenger bag and another set of books, throwing the former over my shoulder. I was halfway to the door when I chanced a glance back at the American.

His eyes were shut as he focused on the music coming from his ear buds. I might have thought he was a sleep had I not heard his voice croak softly, "See you around, imbecile."

I forged outside before sneering in the response, "Too soon, damn wanker."

**Wow. That was a lot longer than the first one. And it only gets longer from here ;]**

**I couldn't resist having Alfred and Arthur sing-off to the other and having them sing those songs. It fit so well with Alfred's personality to have him sing "I Am the Hero"/"We Are the Champions" and I love it cause it's a Queen song. The I HAD to make Arthur sing Phantom of the Opera because, not only does he sing it in the anime, it just is so cute to think about him singing it in his sexy British accent =3 –self fan service-**

**I should have the third piece up in about a week. How will Arthur treat Alfred and will Arthur ever reconcile his feelings and get passed the fact his mother tried to turn him into a little girl? Probably not. But it's worth a shot ;]**


	3. There is No Forgiving an Enemy

_**Fanfiction Name**__: Proms and Pubs_

_**Chapter Name**__: There is No Forgiving an Enemy Who Becomes a Friend_

_**Chapter Summary**__: Restarting a relationship is good when all you have to go is up. Arthur's completely shell-shocked to discover that there really is no worse treachery from an enemy than an enemy becoming a friend. And that all problems can be solved in McDonalds' or in a cinema. _

_**Genre**__: T Romance/Humour_

_**Author's Note**__: I had a dream once that I owned Hetalia… Then the author came out and beat me with a wok and ladle. So, in the end, I still don't own it. C'est la vie!_

_Thank you all for waiting for this and thank you for all the comments. It's made this even more fun for me. I hope you enjoy the next part of the story ;]_

There are very few people in the world that I hate. I could count them all out only using one foot and both of my hands. However, there are even fewer people that I loathe. It's a single digit number that hasn't changed in the past ten years. But after that afternoon in my dorm with my new flat mate, the number might have grown.

The next few weeks barely improved since he found the need to announce to people behind my back things I'd never even told him in the first place. It wasn't like it mattered. I never cared what others thought about me. It's just hard to concentrate when people are sniggering and saying things in the library. Yeah, that's it.

The only slightly embarrassing thing was having my cousin Sundara, the lovely delegate from India, tell me the whole class was talking about my former therapy sessions and how apparently that made me a nutter. While I was thankful no one was aware of the fact I wore dresses until I was six (my mother's doing), I was more concerned that Alfred was finding out things about me that he should have never known.

So, the cards had been dealt and he'd decided that we'd be enemies, not that I cared. But the worst thing I felt wasn't what he said behind my back, but what he did to me afterwards. There's no forgiving an enemy who becomes a friend.

I had just finished the last of my classes that day and was half-way to the library. Since the weather had turned nice in comparison of the past month of rain, I'd been planning on eating outside behind the library. Alfred had another idea.

"Artie!"

The voice was loud and everyone heard it, even people inside. But I chose to ignore it.

"Hey! Hey, Artie! Dude! Wait up!"

I trudged through the grass, solely focused on the library ahead. He couldn't go in there, right? Wouldn't he burst into flames or something? It was like Francis entering a church.

"Yo! Arthur! ARTHUR KIRKLAND! QUIT WALKING WILL YOU?" I was practically running for the doors of my sanctuary but unfortunately for me, he caught up easily. His hand tightened on my shoulder forcing me to stop in my tracks and nearly throw my own shoulder out. I turned my head to him, giving him a hard glare. Like I said, he didn't bother me at all.

"Dang, someone's sure pissy!" he said with a large smile like it was some kind of demented compliment.

I knocked his grip from my shoulder with my freehand. "What do you want?"

The American took a deep breath, bracing himself for the worst. His smile faded slightly, "Look. I know we got off to a really, really bad start. I messed up your apartment and you were too uptight about it—"

"I was not!"

"But, either way, I feel bad about all of this. Like I said before, you seem like a cool guy so… Can we start over? Hi, I'm Alfred F. Jones. The 'F' stands for Freedom."

He held his hand out to me with a hopeful and genuine smile on his face. To say I was shocked would have been total bollocks: I was dumbfounded. For the longest time I gaped at his hand wondering what I should do.

A large part wondered if it was some twisted form of a practical joke. Why would he want to be friends with me after all he said and what I did (Oh, you didn't assume that I took the comments lying down, did you? Just because it didn't both me didn't mean it needed a form of retaliation. It never ceases to make me smile when I think about him dancing around with purple hair because someone messed with his shampoo)? But something in his eyes made me crack. They were so sincere and that smile was killing my frosty reaction. _Damn Americans. _

Before I could figure it out, I took his hand in mind and shook it, "Nice to meet you, Alfred. I'm Arthur I. Kirkland. The I stands for Ignatius?" I attempted to copy his tone and finesse.

Alfred chuckled, thoroughly amused, "Nice try, Art— Wait, your middle name's Ignatius? Dude, that's so lame and— I mean… That's cool. It's totally cool. C-Can I call you Iggy?"

I did my best to ignore his first comment, gracing over it to the second, "Actually, Alfred I'd prefer if you—"

"Aw! Come on, please?"

I glared a bit, about to bark out some spiteful reply when I gained an idea. A smirk curled at the corners of my mouth and I nodded my head, "Alright. You can call me Iggy."

"Score!"

"If I can call you Ally."

His face flushed as he looked pointedly at me. Suddenly his mouth spread into a smile and he gave a booming laugh, hugging my shoulder, "Okay! No Iggy then. How about Artie?"

"If I can call you Alfy," I replied coolly, expecting a similar response.

"Okay by me, Artie!"

Bugger. Backfire one. I didn't make a big deal about it though, he'd probably forget all about this soon, right? Joke would be over and I'd be left alone again. Right?

"Well, good day, Alfy," the word felt foreign on my lips. That name was _not_ going to work at all.

I made a move towards the library but was intercepted by Alfred. The American spun me around and started marching me towards the other end of the campus.

"No way, Artie! You eat your lunch by yourself way too much. Now that we're friends and buds, you're gonna eat lunch with me now!" he announced with a wide smile on his face.

So many things flew through my mind as he spoke. First, what on earth was a "gonna"? And how did he know that I ate lunch alone? And did he just call me his friend?

"But I can't!"

"Why not?"

"I don't want to eat in the cafeteria," I argued weakly.

"Who said we were? Trust me, Artie, I don't like that place any better than you do. We'll eat at someplace cool for lunch; I mean it has to fit the standards of a hero like me! When's your next class?"

"I… uh… I'm done," I stuttered.

"Sweet! Me too! This'll be fun!"

Was it normal for me to be nervous?

.

"Dude, you're kidding!"

Most underestimate the size of Academy Hetalia. In actuality, the campus is about the size of Manhattan with almost as many buildings. Our fabulous campus resides somewhere in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle, hidden from the majority of the world. The west side of the island is made up from housing and the school campus; where I spent almost all of my time. However, the east side is like a giant outdoor mall. Every country represented at the school has their own addition in the East District like a shop or restaurant. England built a performance theatre and cinema that airs new films every weekend.

I was sitting in the American donated McDonald's, gagging down a burger. Alfred sat across from me, his burger and fries long gone so he occasionally snatched at mine.

"Unfortunately, I'm not kidding. My mum used to make me wear dresses until I was six."

"That's nasty! Why not just adopt or have another kid or something? But to try and make you a girl?" he garbled through his soda.

I laughed coldly, swallowing a mouthful of burger, "Too simple apparently."

Alfred sucked on the end of the straw, attempting to extract every drop of his coke, "No wonder you're in therapy."

I winced a bit, shoving the rest of my food away. "Stopped years ago, actually. But after that meal I might need to start it up again."

Alfred looked up, a little confused but eventually started laughing as it clicked in his head, "That was actually kind of funny. But, since you don't like the burger," he eyed it with desire, "Can I have it?"

I gestured forward with a half-smile as he attacked my food. Leaning back against the chair, I took a gander around the establishment. What it lacked in cleanliness, style, and taste the restraint did make up for in colour. Shades of colours that seemed almost unimaginable on anything, let alone a wall, decorated the room. And yet, the place was packed with students and port visitors alike. In a corner Wang Yao held court with my cousin Ria sitting obediently at her left. However while Yao was talking to her clique about who cares what, the young Indian girl was making eyes and flirting with a timid boy; probably a Baltic State.

"Who you looking at?" Alfred asking, bringing my attention away from Ria who was batting her dark eyelashes at the boy. "You like her?"

I did my best not to laugh as I shook my head, "Nah. She's my cousin," I replied and took a slow slip of my beverage.

"Really?" he rose out of the seat to catch a better glimpse of the girl. "She's pretty."

A soft smirk curled at the corner of my mouth as I replied coolly, "Looks run in the family, they just hide behind my eyebrows."

Alfred, in the middle of the last of his burger, started choking. After a few seconds he managed to swallow the food and continued to belt out laugh, "That's actually funny! Dude! You do actually have a sense of humour!"

"Compared to someone who borrows one?"

"Compared to when I first met you!" he beamed. "You were all uptight and no fun then. I like this Artie better."

I felt my face grow a little warm as I muttered out some disgruntled response. The American just laughed and watched me hide behind my drink.

"Mind if I have a sip?" he shook his pop cup at me to prove it was empty. "Whatcha got in there? Tea"

I grimaced a bit, offering it forward until he said the last part. I began to laugh softly, eyeing him, "You know what annoys me?"

"A lot of things?" he offered, staring at me

My lips curled into a sneer, "Clever. People who assume I drink tea because I'm British annoy me."

He paused for awhile, his blue eyes darting between my cup and my face as if waiting for the punch line of some joke, "Don't you?"

I pulled a face like I was gagging, "Hell no; can't stand the bleeding stuff. I'll drink it if I must but it's rather low on my list."

Alfred gaped at me like I'd just ruined how whole impression of British people, "Then what's that? I here thought all Brits drank tea!"

"It's coffee... Or at least it's supposed to be." His last comment made me smile, "And here I thought all Americans weighed a ton."

His face twisted into a less than amused expression before nodding his head in defeat, "Touché. Anything else not normal about you besides that you were forced to dress like a girl?" He gave a broad smile before continuing, "Do you like scones or fish n' chips?"

Taking a sip from the coffee in my hand, I couldn't help but to laugh. "Yes, I'm rather partial to those. I'm actually a fair cook, if I do say so myself."

It might have been comical to see the way my companion's face blanched, "Oh…"

I quirked an eyebrow, "Oh?"

Laughing weakly Alfred started to rub the back of his neck, "That's not, well, that's not what I've heard."

"Who says?" I asked, trying to keep my voice even.

"Well, there's Gilbert, Ludwig, Feliciano, Lovino, Antonio, Roderich, Elizaveta, Matthew, Eduard, Natalia, Ivan, Wang Yao, Kiku—"

"I got it," I waved him off, getting the idea when he had to restart using hands to count off names.

"But Lovino and Feliciano hardly count; they only care for gourmet food," I reasoned weakly. Okay, so it did sting a bit to have that many people say my cooking was terrible. And it wasn't _really_. Okay, once or maybe twice I burned something, but when I actually paid attention to the food, I'd like to say I was a fair cook.

Avoiding the awkward situation, the American started to drain his already empty Coke. Silence settled between the two of us for several long moments which, naturally, got me thinking.

"Can I ask a question?"

"Can I give an answer?" he quipped.

"Why are you here with me?"

Alfred look confused, "Why ever not?"

I started to pick at the Styrofoam cup, leaving indent and trails on the surface with my nail; something to avoid his face, "Cause I'm nothing like anyone else you hang around with."

"And? That's the point," Alfred said with a 'duh-it's-obvious' tone to his voice.

"Dude, who else would crack jokes about Dr. Frog—I'm sorry, I mean Dr. Bonnefoy—in his own classroom?"

"You hear that?" I muttered, feeling a bit embarrassed. Some of the things I said had no business to be said out loud and I'd assumed no one heard it. Guess I'd have to watch my mouth now; damn it.

Alfred nodded calmly, "I do actually listen sometimes. I also do hear the times you call me an insufferable moron under your breath too, just so you know."

My ears began to grow a little warmer as I avoided his gaze. So he really did pay attention? Well, there went my ability to give a running commentary in that class. Just when I was starting to get the pattern down too.

"But I like it," he said calmly, "You've got your own style and manner; it's cool in a weird way."

He liked it? Curiouser and curiouser. I gave a half smile, daring to meet his gaze and see the warm grin he shot in my direction. It was a compliment so I'd take it, even if it was a rather backhanded one at that.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a more relaxed way. That is, our conversation wasn't half as serious and deep. For a guy who couldn't keep his attention on one thing, he did hold a conversation well. He responded to my comments, even my less than civil ones, in a diplomatic way (so there was a reason he was here) and managed to keep his tongue in check. By the end of the lunch when we started wandering pointlessly through the district, I let my wall come down a bit and opened up for regular conversation. I wasn't sure what he said the whole time (Americans) but what I did understand was sort of cool.

Apparently he and Matthew (France's _petite_ _chouchou_) were brothers, for one, which I had never known about. That did explain why they looked so alike. He, Alfred, had lived with his Uncle Bruce while Matthew was sent to Canada to live with their mother. The American had been raised in Washington D.C. his entire life and hadn't been out of the country until he was offered to come to the Academy. He'd been a wild kid, he said with a sort of crazed smile, that had driven everyone crazy and yet he never got into trouble ("Jones Charm," he announced and winked at me). But the weirdest thing he said had to be about the hair, the one that stood up on end. Apparently he named it after the place where his father died and it's got a special purpose. When asked what it does, he got rather quiet and started a new conversation (One day, I will find out what Nantucket does. I don't know why it bothers me so much, but it does). Something else I ended up figuring out along the way was, for a git, he's rather intelligent when he tried. The last part would be the key phrase; when he tried.

Other than that, it was a bit of an uneventful afternoon. Halfway back to the bus station that would take us back to the campus, Alfred spotted the cinema and nearly lost it. So, for the next two hours I'd been forced to sit through some completely pointless Sci-Fi Horror Thriller with him. It was rather amusing how much of the film he spent with his hands over his face or buried in my lap. For a "huge horror movie fan" he scared easily. I can't tell you what happened to be honest, I was trying to get him out of my lap most of the time. You don't know how awkward it is to try and watch a movie when a guy has his head in your lap. It's just bleeding weird.

It was close to six o'clock by the time we made it back to our flat. I'd been winding myself down mentally for the homework that was waiting for me when I noticed something was wrong with my drawer. That is, it was open and my journal opened to the last page I'd written in it, dating back to around my 7th year here.

Alfred crashed onto his bed and jammed his headset over his ears as I picked around my table. The more I prodded and looked, the more answers appeared. A single canary yellow feather lay beside the table leg along with the keys to the journal I had stashed in my cupboard. And, when I looked up, I noticed another feather right by the bathroom door.

"_Gilbert…"_

While it was natural, even expected for people to have pets, the furry (or scaly or slimy) friends here were anything but normal. Wang Yao had brought her live panda, Aaju; Ivan had his Siberian Wolf, Balto; Matthew had a polar bear whose name I can't remember; and Ria even brought her Bengal tiger, Louis. Of course there were people who brought normal animals such as Ludwig and Feliciano had their little kitten. Then there was Gilbird.

Gilbird was a simple looking yellow canary but, the way Gilbert treated her, she might as well have been his first love. Sometimes I wondered too. But besides his extended affection towards the animal, there was the fact she was always watching and there were times I swear I heard her talking back to him. So, it'd become regular that wherever one of them was…

The American looked up from his MP3 player to raise an eyebrow at me. I placed a finger to my lips, signalling silence for a moment then for him to start talking. Without much of an argument, he began to bumble out comments and questions while I pressed an ear to the door.

"Kesesesesese~"

"_Gotcha!"_

I threw open the bathroom door to see Gilbert and Gilbird huddled together on the bathroom floor. From the looks of it, it had been a split-second decision, seeing as the bathroom had no exits other than the one leading into the flat.

"'llo, Gilbert."

Alfred jumped down from his bed to come see the person in the bathroom. The albino's red eyes fastened onto the American and he pointed an accusatory finger, "Alfred! Not awesome! You were supposed to keep _him_ out of here while I snooped!"

My eyes snapped towards the American who was staring at the Prussian without any recognition. He calmly removed the headset and let it hang around his neck.

"Come again?"

Gilbert jumped up, that sick smirk decorated his white face, "You said you could keep him busy so I could be awesome snoop around, you dolt!"

Alfred's expression turned thoughtful and for a long time, I wanted nothing more to deck that American bastard.

"Look," he raised his hands in surrender, "I never said that. What the hell are you talking about?"

Gilbert continued babbling, pointing furiously at the American. I blocked out their conversation as my blood simmered at boiling point. Did I really just get played and buy that damn jerk lunch? I felt my throat and eyes burn, a feeling that always came right before I started to cry. That was something I hated; whenever I got really pissed, I started to cry. I clenched and unclenched my fist trying to fight off the waterworks and tune back into their conversation.

"Don't act like you don't know!"

Alfred blinked, "But I _don't _know what you're drivelin' on about. I just hung out with Artie because I wanted to."

The smirk broke into a look of pure shock. Sick laughter came pouring out as he shifted his pointer finger towards me, "You can't be serious! Dude, who'd want to hang around someone like him when there are awesome people like me? He's a total nerd and about as gay as they come and I don't just mean it in the sexual preference way. He doesn't even—"

Whatever I didn't do or know never came out. Alfred breathed heavily out through his nose and firmly grabbed the Prussian's upper arm.

Gilbert was dragged out of the room screaming about my quiet-kept secrets and for the American to unhand the "awesomness" that was he. I was still boiling in silent rage when Alfred walked back into the room and locked the door.

"Total moron, huh? Well, I'm gonna turn in early, okay?" Alfred didn't wait for an answer before nonchalantly walking back to his bed without another word.

So Alfred was on my side or wasn't he? I suppressed my rage as best I could, embroidering long after the American went to bed before I even attempted at my research paper.

Funny how such a bad day could turn so good then again so bad.

**Plot twist! Ahhh… Okay not really, unless you think Alfred's that kind of guy or if you don't… -shrugs-**

**So, there's the third part. Kind of pointless and fluffy but there's a point to it, I promise.**

**Next part should be up soon, so… Yeah…**

**R&R if you're up to it, I appreciate it for those of you who take time to comment. Helps me as a writer ;]**

**I apologize for such a late update but now, with my AP test out of the way, I should be able to update a lot more often. =] Again, sorry if y'all were waiting for it with bated breath or something. Please accept this chapter as a humble offering.**


	4. Send My World Spinning

_**Fanfiction Name**__: Proms, Pubs, and Roommates_

_**Chapter Name**__: Send My World Spinning_

_**Chapter Summary**__: Arthur comes to a rather hard realization after waking up smashed in the same bed as his roommate. And, no, it's not lemon. ;] _

_**Genre**__: T Romance/Humor_

_**Author's Note**__: There is a lot of cursing, a bar scene, and then Iggy's horrific realization at the end of this. It's turning very romantic-ish so if you don't like, don't read. Please don't waste either of our time. Kay? Kay!_

_Harry; Forgetting something, love?_

_Huh? Oh! I do not own Hetalia in any way shape or form. Enjoy!_

Thinking back on it now, I should have figured something was wrong when I woke up. My hair was plastered to my skull like sweat yet I was shivering like it wasn't the middle of March outside. The longer I lay there, the clearer things became. For one, I was laying on top of my blankets in nothing but my singlet and pants (which is not as warm as you'd think because a singlet is a tank top to you Yanks and pants are what go under our trousers). For another, my arms were wrapped tightly around something firm and warm, smelling distinctly of musk, cologne, and sweat.

"Look who decided to wake up," whispered a voice above me.

Now I hate cliffhangers as much as the next person, but to understand that morning it's imperative to understand the night before. So hold that thought.

Like the rest of the students in my year, the last week in February marked a day to look forward to. It meant we had half of a semester left at the school and, after that, we'd been free adults in the real world.

Earlier that morning I'd been cornered by my slimy French Home Ec. teacher after class. Glowing with what he called pride (I called it sexual tensions) he congratulated me on my achievements thus far. I graciously accepted his praise, biting back every one of my spiteful replies. For another ten minutes he went on about who cares what and I kept trying to slip away. By the end of his speech he was brimming with tears (was Matthew really denying him that much, I wondered) and announced we should celebrate.

"While I'd love to," I began insincerely, "I'm afraid I have other plans."

"_Sacrebleu_! Who is this lovely lady you will be blowing me off for?"

"Francis, it's not a lady but—"

"Oh! Honhonhon! I did not know you swung that way! Where was I, _Angleterre_?"

"No! No, Francis, I am not dating a boy," I seethed. "It's just two friends hanging out and studying together. I mean Alfred—"

"_Monsieur_ Jones? _Oui! Oui_! Why not bring him along? A double-date between Mathieu and moi and Monsieur Jones and Angleterre? _Oui_!"

"_Non_! No! I's not a date so it couldn't be a double date and on top of that there is no bleeding way I'm going to subject Alfred to an evening with you. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get to class," I snapped, rushing towards the exit of his classroom.

Fifteen paces away his throaty voice caught my each, "_Vous__poulet_."

For the non-French speaking reader, in short, he called me a coward (a chicken to be precise). Noted, I'm not obsessed with my pride but there are certain things that are unacceptable. In my opinion that red-faced, suppressed snarl, envisioning the French imbecile burning on his own stake reaction was perfectly natural. My back was still turned so it was a safe bet that he couldn't see my reaction. But he knew what was happening.

Without looking back, I picked up my bag and gave a clipped reply, "Fine, Francis, I'll be there."

In hindsight, that might not have been the best response but, under pressure, it seemed reasonable. It wasn't hard convincing Alfred to come to the pub, but it was hard finding a tactful way of doing so without creeping either of us out.

"Hey, Artie!" he greeted as he entered the dorm room, peeking out from behind his wind-blown fringes (you might call them bangs in America). With the door hardly shut, he started to strip out of his blazer and oxford. For modesty's sake, I ducked my head down trying not to stare at my strange American roommate.

"So where we going to study? I'm in for McDonald's or the cafeteria or the mall or—"

"Anywhere with food?" I offered with a small smile. The two of us laughed for awhile before falling into awkward silence. Alfred went to change his trousers (he'd long since stopped calling them pants after the one time I nearly turned purple) and was out of the room when I began to remember my dilemma.

"Err… Alfred?"

"Yeah, Artie?" he called from the other side of the door.

I rose up from my bed and leaned casually against the wall beside the door. "Can I ask a favor?"

"Course. Anything for you," he assured before falling silent. "Wait, what am I doing?"

A weak bout of laughter came out as I grabbed a hold on my hair in frustration, "First things first: this was not my idea."

"That's not making me feel better," he nearly whimpered.

"Francis… Well… He invited me out for drinks tonight to celebrate my impending graduation. And, the thing is, I dun't want to be alone with him."

"So," he peeked his head out of the bathroom, "You want me to play third wheel? No big deal."

This is when it all started to get weird. "Not quite," I began, "You see, he's bringing Matthew and told me to bring somebody along too." Not quite but, he didn't need to know that.

Alfred blinked his blue eyes, an apprehensive tone in his usually strong voice. "Like a date?" he faltered.

"No! No, no!" I cried and clamped my hands over my face, hiding my embarrassment. "Just friends, I promise!"

"Oh!" the American let out a nervous laugh. "Wow… That was awkward."

"You have no idea. You weren't the one asking," I grumbled.

Alfred starting laughing harder, "Well, s'long as it's not a date, then of course!"

We were both silent for awhile until Alfred came out shirtless and in jeans, his face lit up into a characteristic smile.

"You know, for a straight guy, you handled asking me out extremely well," he winked.

I felt a flutter in my stomach and my face heat up out of pure embarrassment (yeah, that's all it was). But I didn't snap at him for the out of line comment, instead I smiled back coyly, "Don't know that for sure, love."

Alfred spun around so fast it was a wonder he didn't have whiplash, "What?"

The look of pure shock and (almost) horror made the cheeky comment worth it. I fell back onto my bed laughing, "I'm kidding," I breathed back.

Once he figured out I was only joking and that I wasn't coming onto him, the rest of the afternoon was great. The coffee shop we managed to settle on was crowded but nice. No one acknowledged we were there but that was better than it used to be. In fact, nearly everyone had lain off since that one afternoon when Alfred started hanging around me. There'd been one time with Gilbert but the day after he was strangely silent and stuck to shooting me dirty looks until Alfred showed up and then the Prussian took off like there was a ghost at his heels. When I asked Alfred about it, he said he was probably just afraid of being in the presence of such an amazing hero.

The afternoon was good and well spent. Alfred finally managed to catch up with his World History class, a feat admirable by someone who joined halfway through the class, and I finished the research necessary for my Senior Research paper. The day was perfect until about seven o'clock when were destined to meet Francis and Matthew at the pier. Matthew and Alfred enjoyed the other's company but it was extremely uncomfortable to watch Matthew hang on the Frenchman.

'_They are a couple after all…' _A voice that sounded a lot like Francis chided in the back of my head.

It was a pleasant evening walking through the little port town. The boardwalk that connected with the pier was lined with various shops and restaurants of all varieties. Every few feet a gap or railing allowed the cool wind and sea spray to leak onto the passersby. Because of this, the air held a refreshing chill that soaked to the bone. It gave couples an excuse to huddle together (which Matthew and Francis enjoyed using) but for me, the one who forgot his jacket, it was just a nuisance. Multiple times Alfred offered me his bomber jackets noticing my balled-up stance and multiple times I declined. Finally, he threw it at me saying he was tired of my chattering teeth. Resigned to feeling like some girl, I slipped it on and continued along behind the rest. The smell wasn't unpleasant, I noted. It was like musk, Alfred's overpriced name-brand cologne, sweat, and cooking grease. It was like him.

"We're here!" Francis announced, flourishing his hand at a rather charming looking building. The place looked almost reminiscently like an old English pub from back home. However, the inside atmosphere reminded me though of a tacky American diner and bar. Paraphernalia of the navies and shipping of the world adorned every inch of the wall. Of course, the most obvious thing at the moment was the life-size wood carving of a sailor with a fag (a cigarette) hanging from his lips.

"Welcome to the Rusty Anchor, I'll be with y'all in a minute," drawled a waitress dressed in something that might have been a sailor's uniform except it dipped too far down in the front and rode up too far in the back to be practical. She was hot, I'd give her that, but even in her skimpy clothes there lacked that certain spark of real desire (well, maybe not. After all, I was a university boy with raging hormones).

She made her rounds once before gliding up to us again, "Thanks y'all for waitin'. Four of yas? Kay! Foll'r me!" she instructed and we followed.

The waitress brought us to a small booth in the back of the establishment and left us to our own demise with the menus. Matthew and Francis were seated on one side while I sat anxiously beside Alfred. I could already see something going completely wrong and we hadn't even ordered out drinks yet.

"_Monsieur Jones?"_

There goes the evening, I thought. Alfred looked up; he looked startled to be addressed in such a fashion by his professor, "Oh… You can call me Al."

"Well, _bonjour_, Al, it is a pleasure to meet both the brother of _mon_ _chère_, _Mathieu_, and the dear friend of my friend. _Informelle_, that is."

Alfred gave a polite response, keeping his eyes fastened to the menu. I was thankful that neither he nor Matthew could see the look Francis gave me. I had no idea to what it pertained to but, for some reason, I felt guilty about something. Damn French bastard.

To my relief, the waitress showed up again this time to take our orders. As we ordered, her eyes bobbed between the four of us, as if trying to figure us all out. If she did, I'd love to know her answers because I still had yet to.

"Alright, I'll bring y'all your drinks out in a few."

As the waitress sauntered away, Francis and Matthew began to babble to each other in French. Alfred and I awkwardly traded glances.

"I hate when he does that," we sighed in unison. I snapped my head to my left to see a rather amused Alfred gaping at me.

"Great minds think alike?" I offered.

Alfred started laughing and nodded his head, tossing his dark blonde hair into his face. Even in the low lighting of the restaurant his azure eyes nearly glowed. He was handsome and it was easy to guess why he was so popular with all of the girls. It was a wonder he wasn't dating one. Funny.

"Ya in there?" Alfred called, waving his hand in frantically in front of my face. Fazing back into the reality, Alfred busted out laughing and Francis started shooting me another one of those looks.

The drinks came and went and for the first half of dinner, all was good. Francis was smashed only one glass of wine in (he'd never been good at holding his liquor) but I was completely sober at my second round of ale. It might have been an extremely quiet night if the Frenchman hadn't challenged me to a drinking game.

Now, I'm positive that not only did I win, that I handled myself with the upmost dignity. I suppose because, after round nine, I blacked out in my memory. I clearly remember beating Francis and some newcomer (I could've sworn it was Ludwig) challenging me to a new round. There're hazed memories of certain things like getting hit square in the face by a rather cologne-sodden shirt.

"Look who decided to wake up."

This is where we started, me in my bed waking up with a hell of a headache and someone in there with me. Warily I opened my eyes to have a pair of azure ones staring right back at me.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY BED?"

The American started laughing, trying to pry my hand off of his arm, "You know, it's a funny story, really."

I snatched my hand back and rolled into the side of the bed away from him, clocking my head off of the wall. Cupping one hand over my throbbing head, I really just wanted to grab the pillow and go back to sleep. Unfortunately when I reached to grab the pillow, something stopped it. I opened my eyes to see Alfred propped up against it, just as soaked as I was. Beads of liquid ran down his dark face from his sandy hairline. It was kind of sexy the way the—

No! It was not sexy, not in the slightest! And I was not turned on at all by the soaked black singlet, sticking to his chest. And I most certainly did not stare at it.

"Well," Alfred's voice and the spattered drops of sweat that dislodged as he ran his fingers through his hair brought me back to earth. "Last night, after you beat Ludwig in a drinking contest, I brought you back here. The A/C was broke and after about five minutes…" With one hand he gestured to the half-clothed state that I was in and I felt my face burn red.

"Bloody hell…" I nearly whimpered. "But why are you… And in my bed and…"

Alfred started to deepen in colour as well, clearing his throat nervously, "I didn't plan on it, honestly. You were sort of passed out and so… W-Well, I thought I'd be nice but when I put you to bed…"

He ran a hand across his forearm where the patterns of my fingers were still etched into his skin. So I'd cuddled with his arm… while drunk… Brilliant.

"You've gotta mighty strong grip," he laughed weakly, reaching for his bomber jacket at the foot of my bed.

"Oh good cor," I whimpered, burying my head into my hands.

"Not as bad as you'd think," he defended, "Francis was stripping in the restaurant by the end of the night. Felt rather bad for Matthew who had to take him home. Wonder how he's doing…"

His tone was as distracted as I felt. The more he talked the less I heard coming out of his mouth and the more my mind began to wonder what I could do with it. I shook my head, regretting it once the pain started to kick in. What was wrong with me? My mind was formulating thoughts that I'd never had before; since when did I find Alfred attractive? Sure, he had a body worth noticing and sure, there were times he was rather endearing and okay, more than once I found myself blushing when he brushed against my arm, but still! This was foreign and completely weird and I wasn't sure I liked it.

"Iggy? Iggy!"

I was jerked rather forcibly back into reality by the cruel nickname.

"I told you not to call me that," I hissed at him.

Alfred gave me a wide smile, "You said I could last night."

"That was then; this is now."

He looked pointedly at the boots by his bed and shrugged, "Guess you're right… You said a lot of weird things last night anyway."

My apprehension grew, "What?"

"Well," he ran a hand through his damp hair with a slight smirk, "You asked the waitress if you were Catholic or straight, which we all found rather amusing. You also started talking to a bunch of people with weird names. Who're Tink, Hook, and Uni?"

"You're kidding…" I groaned.

"Oh! And then you tried to make out with the waitress."

I felt all colour drain from my face as I sat up to look at him. His blue eyes had a hard look in them but his face was set into a mischievous smile.

"You're kidding, aren't you?"

"Me? Kid? Never!" Alfred cried incredulously. He graced me with one more smile before walking over to his own bed, leaving me gaping at him. Was he trying to be cute or clever? And why was he so good at doing both?

I fell back onto my bed, clamping my hands over my eyes. I felt weak, vulnerable even, as I listened to him talk and his body accommodated his words. What the hell was wrong with me? Never in my life had I experienced this before. Sure, I'd had crushes on several girls and more than once in a drunken stupid I'd snogged a desperate one. But those feelings compared nothing to this.

Over the past six weeks I'd grown to really enjoy Alfred's company. Sure, there were times that his sheer optimism was annoying or times I wanted to pop him in the head and more than once his independent streak made him nearly impossible, but still, he was a man with more intellect than he let on and a unique outlook on life. His intentions were always true whether or not his actions succeeded. He might have had an insane desire to be, what he called, the hero but he pulled it off with a finesse I could only pray to duplicate. How many other boys would stop to help a girl on the other end of the courtyard who dropped her whole stack of books onto the ground?

The more time I spent with him, the more I began to realize that he was my kind of person. I teased myself by saying, had he been a girl, or had a sister, I'd have been completely interested. The problem was now my heart was catching up with my head. My head said he'd be a perfect match if he'd been a girl; my heart said he was a perfect match because he was not. So many things were cramming in my mind, I'm surprised my head didn't implode.

I stood up to fix my bed, planning on sleeping in for once. I chanced a glance in his direction to see the American catching up on his school work, as I laid back down and closed my eyes, I felt so confused. And it only got worse when dinner decided to make a late comeback.

**Yes, here you are. Chapter four and only three left ;]**

**Hope you like this one and are okay with the whole new twist it's taking.**

**Should have the next part up relatively soon if not by the middle of next week. I have exams the first few days but I've got all weekend to study so...**

**Like always feel free to review, favorite, or follow. I'm thankful to all of you for supporting me whether in reviews or in just following along. It really makes this a whole lot more fun to write for me personally.**

**And, as I said before, no flaming. If you don't like yaoi, I gave you a fair warning before so if you don't like it then just quit reading =]**

**Until next time, keep it real and keep it fictioning**


	5. Confess My Feelings To Your Back

_**Fanfiction Name**__: Proms, Pubs, and Roommates_

_**Chapter Name**__: Confess My Feeling to Your Back_

_**Chapter Summary**__: Arthur attempts to clear his head by walking around but an interesting conversation with his teach and teacher's pet gives him more food for thought than he'd intended on._

_**Genre**__: T Romance/Humor_

_**Author's Note**__: I don't think there's much going on in this chapter… Francis is being a tool, Iggy's having sexual desire problems, Alfred's completely oblivious, and there's some guy who's trying to help them all… Can't remember his name… Anyway I do not own Hetalia Axis Powers nor Hetalia World Series. I am just a fan girl with a love for making Iggy's life miserable._

To say the next few weeks went along smoothly would have been bollocks. It was more like an erratic coaster to which I'd been strapped to the front against my will.

You would not believe how hard it is to keep your focus on homework when your roommate is trying to steal your notebook. Add in a generous amount of dopamine, all directed towards my unfortunately attractive roommate, and I was in desperate need of time away.

The cool April wind wet with the coming rain pulled me out towards the courtyard. I was walking aimlessly without much of a plan of going anywhere in particular.

"Ahh… _Bonjour, Angleterre_."

Half-way across the desolate area Francis Bonnefoy sat in his alcove smoking a fag (and that's not a euphemism for anything, that'd be a cigarette to you). His sickeningly bright blue eyes glittered with delight.

"It's so funny to see you so alone," he chuckled, beckoning me forward with a wave of his hand. I waded through the grass, less than thrilled to see him but enough to let him talk my ear off.

"Good day to you too, Francis. And you. Where is Matthew?"

He blew out a ring of smoke, "He is studying. And where is _Monsieur_ _Jones_?"

"Same, I suppose." Leaning back against the wall, I laid my head against the cool surface of the partition and laxly watched the Frenchman.

"Should you not be doing the same?"

I pushed forward again, avoiding his gaze as I hunched my shoulder forward, "Needed time to think."

"Could you not talk to your _ami_ about something things?"

I didn't bother to respond, just staring at the smoke rings that formed as he spoke.

"Oh!" he laughed softly before puffing out a few more smoke stacks. "So it is about him~"

"It's not what you think!"

"And what do I think, _Angleterre_?"

Once more I was rendered to dead silence as I averted his gaze. How easily could he read me, I wondered, and what did he think?

"Tell me, _monami_, what do you think of _Monsieur_ _Jones_?"

"I'm not attracted to him, if that's what you're thinking."

"No! Of course not!" He gave me the same smile he'd given at the pub only a month prior. "Just tell me in three words your thoughts on the American."

I sighed heavily before rattling off my first three thoughts of him. "Prat. Insufferable. Annoying."

I heard the smile before I saw it, "In three words that won't insult my intelligence of you, _Angleterre." _

Releasing a sigh of defeat, I clutched at my hair and thought for awhile. It was a few minutes before I found the voice and courage to respond.

"Sincere. Intelligent. Humorous."

The Frenchman gave a throaty laugh before answering, "Very good. Now, refresh my memory: how long have you known the man for?"

"Over four months."

"How long have you two been friends?"

"Over two, I s'ppose."

Francis snuffed out his fag and leaned against the wall opposite of me. For once that smug-bastard smile was gone, replaced instead by a gentle and honest look.

"Did you not once tell me when we were younger that you wanted a woman who was kind, intelligent, funny, and sincere among a million other things."

I studied his face before answering as calmly as my voice would allow, "Yes. And? That's got nothing to do with the other."

"Oh, but it does."

His voice softened and he continued one, "How many more words would it take to both describe _Monsieur_ _Jones_ and to complete your desires in a mate? A few?"

In a fluid motion I rose to my full height and glared heavily at him, "That's neither here nor there, Francis. I don't want a 'mate', I want a woman." I did, right?

The Frenchman smirked up at me, "Tell me, _Angleterre_, Have you ever felt this way for a woman? The way you feel for _Monsieur Jones_?"

"But I don't have feelings for him!" I insisted.

Francis bursted into laughter, tears in his eyes before he choked out. "You amuse me, _mon ami_. I am _Français_, am I not? I can smell _l__'amoure_ from a mile away and you, _Monsieur_, are in love. I wasn't just looking at you in the restaurant because I admired how the shirt you wore complemented those green eyes of yours."

I could feel a snarl build in the back of my throat; he could smell something but I was almost positive that it wasn't love that his nose was drawn to. "I am not in love! There's no such thing!" I felt the words lose their argument before they even left my lips.

"But have you ever felt this way before?"

"No." I felt my face colour but he pressed on.

"Do you think you ever could?"

"No."

"Do you want to?"

Well, did I? Did I want to have the same jittery feeling whenever some girl threw a look at me? The same burning jealousy when someone talked flirtatiously with her? The genuine and ever present feeling to pull her aside and, in more actions that words, tell her how I feel?

"No."

My professor smiled approvingly as if I'd just passed some impossible test. I guess in a way I might have.

"Then I think we've begun to solve your problem. Now, how do you plan on telling—"

"Frog, no. There is no telling?"

His heartbroken face was almost despairing. "No?"

"No."

"Why ever not?"

"Because," I argued lamely. Under his pressing gaze I struggled to find a valid argument. I pinched the bridge of my nose and thought hard, attempting to formulate an idea. Why didn't I want to tell him?

_Because he'd never care for you. You're lame, you're boring, and have absolutely no perks. _It was a soft voice that whispered in my mind the truth. It sounded a lot like my cousin Ria did; judgmental and harsh.

"You don't know if he does until you ask."

I looked up to see Francis smiling compassionately at me. I don't know what freaked me out more; that he read my mind or that I was hoping he was right for once.

"Who doesn't know?" asked a soft voice.

The new voice was soft and if Francis hadn't stirred, I might have brushed it off as the wind.

"_Mon chère, Mathieu_!" Francis jumped up to greet him. I felt extremely awkward as I witnessed their passionate greeting (or Francis making out with Matthew who didn't know how to react other than to kiss him back). _French_...

Flustered and a bit breathless now, Matthew smiled curiously at me, "Well who?"

"No one," I answered lamely.

"Are you having relationship problems too?"

"Too?"

The Canadian gave me a weak smile before answering, "Ludwig and Feliciano are having a fall out so Feli decided to talk to me about it." I could tell by his strained tone that Feliciano had been the only one talking and that poor Matthew had had to listen to the incessant chatter. "So, what's the matter, eh?"

"Nothing's the matter really it's just—"

"_Angleterre_ is in love."

"I am not in love!" I snapped at him, "Love doesn't exist!"

"But, Arthur, love is a natural part of life. You talk science, eh? Love is a proven chemical reaction," Matthew smiled gently, hooking his hand with Francis as if to make a point.

"Chemicals, huh?" I didn't bother to argue with them. The way they talked the two just seemed to ooze "love" but, to me, it just wasn't real. Even if it was "chemistry," who bloody cares? Love might be a chemical reaction but so is fire out of a bomber beetle's arse and rarely anyone gets hyped up over that.

"So, Arthur," the Canadian persisted, "Who is it?"

My face began to flush red and I'd rather have had to deal with Alfred then answer the question.

"No one, Matthew. Francis is just incorrectly analyzing me. I already said I was not in love so how can there be anyone? Can't it just be that I'm having a perfectly relaxed time being single and having great friends who—"

"Oh!" Matthew giggled softly, pressing his face a little more towards Francis' arm, "It's him."

"Who?"

Matthew released his boyfriend's arm to place a hand on one hip and give me a thumbs up like Alfred was positively known for, "My brother."

I hated the Canadian for getting it right but like hell I'd admit that.

"Hell no! I would—"

"It's only natural," he added, allowing Francis to wrap his arms around him. "I mean..."

"It's nothing! I don't have any interest in your git of a brother."

"At all?"

"None."

"And if he liked you?"

"He does?"

I felt something tighten in my chest as I turned to see the two French (Matthew was half French after all) smirking at me. Damn it; I walked into that one too.

"Really, Arthur, it's not that big of a deal. It's perfectly normal."

"How is it normal?" I argued, "Friends don't fancy their best friends."

Francis grinned and gently kissed the top of Matthew's head, "I did."

"But that's different?"

"How so?" the Canadian inquired.

"You weren't friends! You were two people: student and teacher. You developed a crush and he was enough of a paedophile to reciprocate the feelings."

"Mon dieu!" Francis cried and threw his hands up into the air before tightening his grip on Matthew's shoulders, the latter who looked like he'd been slapped in the face. I felt both accomplished and ashamed for the red colour that grew on Matthew's face.

"You an ass! Do you not believe at all in fate or _l'amour_?" Francis snapped at me; I could tell that attacking his relationship with his favourite student had been a bad idea now.

"Well, to be honest, Francis, I don't believe in... love."

"You hesitated!" Francis exclaimed.

"So?" I challenged. "Look, damn it, you Frog! I'd love to believe in that but it's just not real for me. My parents and everyone I've ever known marries for status not for romance! It's hard to believe in love when you've never seen it for yourself!"

I hadn't realized I'd started shouting until I'd finished. My body was quaking with frustration and both men were looking at me with surprise. However when Matthew stepped forward with a smile, I wasn't sure what to expect.

"Okay then, Arthur, say it doesn't exist. What do you have to lose if you give it a shot?"

"My dignity? My ability to walk around in public without ridicule?"

_My best friend._

"But, Mon ami, what do you have to gain? Wouldn't it be worth it for him to say je t'iame?"

"But, I don't think that he speaks French, Francis..."

.

I'd left my flat to clear my head only to return with more in it than when I left. From the conversation with Mr. and Mr. Lovebirds, my subconscious mind had been forced to realize I had strong feelings for Alfred, I refused to call it love being I didn't believe in such things.

Either way, what they said was starting to get to be: what did I have to lose that I couldn't live without? I'd done it for my whole life before I'd met him, right?

So that led to me entering my dorm again and hyping myself up for the most awkward conversation of my life (seems with Alfred a lot those seemed to happen). When I walked in, Alfred was staring intently at his textbook as if waiting for the information to move away.

" 'llo Alfred."

"IGGY!"

The American jumped up from the bed and with an elated expression rushed over towards me.

"Dude I have something I totally need to ask you!" "Can I ask you something?" We blurted out at the same time.

Laughter followed and I felt a smile tug at my lips; seemed to happen a lot with him here.

"You can go first."

"No, go first, Alfred, mine's going to take a long time to explain," I blushed.

"Oh, okay then."

Alfred closed his eyes and took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for God knows what. Was it natural to be a little apprehensive of this?

"You know how in June there's that galo, gela, giga, googa, gyba..." he tripped out over the words.

"Gala?" I offered.

"Yeah! That!" he smiled weakly before continuing on. "Well... It's a dance and I was wondering if you... If you would... Well, if you would..." Alfred closed his eyes and sighed heavily, "If you would mind teaching me to dance."

"Err... Come again?"

"I mean... Look." Alfred ran his fingers through his hair. "There's this person that I really want to ask to the dance but I don't want to make a fool of them if I can't dance and... I mean it you don't want to you don't have to and I wouldn't take it personally and I know I'm a handful and I know that I'd be hard to teach and I mean that—"

I clamped a hand down on his shoulder, a sign for him to quit his incessant yammering. Startled blue eyes monitored my movements as I struggled to fake a smile and find a reply.

"Course I will, Alfred. It's not that big of a deal."

The American beamed widely, wrapping me up in a tight hug and nearly crushing the air out of my lungs. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling to say the least, but you didn't hear me admit that.

"Alfred, gerroff me!" I grumbled, trying to suppress the twisting, falling feeling that stirred in my stomach.

He pulled backwards, that cheeky smile of his plastered to his face. But there was something off, like his body was there but his mind was somewhere else.

"So, what were you going to say?"

"Going to, Alfred, it's 'going to'."

"Going to what?"

His smile widened as I muttered something about living with a complete imbecile.

"So, what's up?" he pressed, his hand still resting on my shoulders.

"You know what?" I paused and pulled back away from his arms, watching them drop down to his sides. "It's nothing really. Stupid question and I figured out the answer."

His blue eyes stared pointedly into mine and I felt myself flinch under his gaze, "You sure?"

I nodded my head and brushed off his concern. I knew the answer perfectly; figures that the first guy I liked would be trying to ask a girl to the dance. Not that I cared.

**Awwh... Poor Iggy =[ Don't you feel bad for him?**

**Anyway, thanks for your patience and reading this. I hope you enjoy it. Two more real chapters (maybe an epilogue if I feel generous with my time)**

**Yes, I know, Francis is being a weirdo and caring and Iggy was a bit of a jerk towards the whole Franada relationship but you can't blame poor Iggy. He's trying to figure himself out when his author is completely confused. **

**I should have the next part up soon =]**

**Much love to you, my kiddies ;]**


	6. Teach Me And I'll Teach You

_**Fanfiction Name**__: Proms, Pubs, and Roommates_

_**Chapter Name**__: Teach Me and I'll Teach You_

_**Chapter Summary**__: Arthur tries to teach Alfred how to waltz, purely helping a friend out. But it's hard to keep your mind on the job at hand when your feelings are trying to get in the way._

_**Genre**__: T Romance/Humor_

_**Author's Note**__: Okay, this was my favorite part to write so far! I absolutely loved it what with Arthur being a little "flirty" and Alfred being extremely suggestive. This is more self-service than anything. So I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! =]_

_I do not own Hetalia or waltzing. One of them was created by a mastermind and the other was created by a dance instructor a million years ago._

April came and left in a whirl of rain and May waltzed its warm and sunny way in. End of the year exams were just around the corner as well. Few students were focused on the academics with the Summer Gala less than a month away. In addition to that, the Senior class was preparing for graduation and the real world. It was a daunting thought to say the least.

I also had other things on my mind than my valedictorian speech. Because, even if I didn't get to enjoy the fruits of my labor, I was going to teach Alfred to dance if it was the last thing I did. Personally, I wouldn't be going to the Gala for various reasons.

So, on a bright Saturday morning, I stood in the empty band room patiently waiting for the American. It seemed the only time and place out of our schedule and our room was most certainly not an option (what with our noiseaphobe neighbor). And with the school band rehearsing in the concert hall for the Spring Recital, the band room was empty and the perfect place to practice.

True to his character, I was left waiting seven minutes before Alfred busted into the music room, bumbling out a senseless apology.

"Don't apologize to me: comes out of your time," I answered coolly, getting up from my perch on one of the percussion stools. His shocked expression made me smile on the inside; oh yeah, I could be badass when I wanted to be.

"Now are we going to stare at each other all day?" I cracked a smile and gestured for him to come closer. Caught in a daze he shuffled forward shutting the gap between teacher and student. Ironic, huh?

"Now stand here," I steered him into place. "And put your hands here," I set his hands onto my shoulders, suppressing the shivers it sent down my spine. I hated how easily my body reacted to his.

"I didn't know we were that close," he teased, twirling the tip of his index finger on my shoulder sending blood into my cheeks.

"Very funny," I growled, looking up at him through narrow slits. "Now, I'm not getting fresh."

"Oh, I won't tell," Alfred purred into my ear.

"You want me to teach your or not?" I snapped. "You're lucky no one can see us."

"You're right, they might get jealous of you, _darling_."

I rolled my eyes in response, not sure what to say to this, "I have other things I could be doing, you know?"

"Okay, okay, I'll cool it, Professor Kirkland," he snorted softly and smiled at me. "Teach away, sempai."

I put on as professional of a face as I could muster and planted both hands on his thighs, "Excuse my hands."

The response was immediately him jumping in towards me, his chest up against mine and his face as red as mine. We both looked away, backing up a bit.

"Sorry."

"No, it's no problem. Just… Didn't expect it."

It was just a matter of simple close encounters and shouldn't have made my heart jump the way it did. But the teasing breath on my neck that reeked of too strong coffee, powdered sugar, and mint mingled with the way his hands clasped and released on my shoulder caused my heart to race like a runaway stallion. Damn dopamine.

"The waltz is a simple basic six-step dance," I explained, relieved my voice was even. "I'll teach you the lead part but I'll lead until you get the hang of it."

Still rather red in the face, the American looked at me in the eyes and nodded weakly. It was rather cute how docile he looked for once, certainly a change of pace.

"The first step is forward," I pulled his left leg forward. "Right , Together," I pushed the opposite leg to his right then together. "That's the first three counts."

"Forward, right, together; got it!"

"Next step is back."

I allowed my fingers to curl a bit as I pushed his right leg away.

"Left, together," I instructed and guided his legs as such. "Now we're back to where we started."

"That's easy!"

I smiled indulgently. At first I hadn't noticed how much taller he was but at this close quarters, it was obvious the two to three centimeter gap between us. I shook my head, ignoring it, "I'm glad you think so. Let's try it a few more times so you can get used to it."

Fifteen minutes passed in where he managed to really get the idea and I felt free enough to hold my hands to his side and we just paced the steps in a simple box. I was in for calling it a day when he insisted that we work a little more on it.

"Alright then, let's try it with you not staring at your feet and in the regular stance. Now, I apologize for this but," I held out my hand expecting him to wig out and laugh. Instead he slipped his into mine and placed a gentle grip on my shoulder. Instinctively mine curled around his hip.

"R-Ready?" I stuttered a bit. When he nodded his head in response I let my head slip back into the frame of work. "Four five six. One two three, for five six. One two three, four five six."

We started migrating across the carpeted band room floor, holding the other comfortably close. I prayed to God all sorts of things at that moment. One was that I'd put on enough deodorant, another was I hoped Alfred couldn't feel the way my heart was throwing itself against my ribcage (or that if he could, he'd brush if off as exertion like his own heart), and the last was that maybe, by some miracle, this simple morning could last hours longer. Even if it was under false pretention and for innocent reasons, I got to hold him close.

"So, Iggy," Alfred's clear voice broke through my complacent fog and I stopped counting. He'd finally managed to loosen up and was really dancing; it was kind of nice.

"So, Alfred."

"Are you going to the Summer Gala?"

I shook my head, "No, I'm not. Need to spend the night studying for my exams."

The American stared rather pointedly at me, as if he couldn't believe I'd say no, "Why? Exams aren't for two weeks after that?"

"Well," I looked pointedly at his chin, which I was eyelevel with, "the girl I liked got asked to the dance."

"Really?" he sounded curious. "Who was it? I bet it was Ria."

I glared up at him, tempted to smack him upside the head. "No, you git, Ria's my cousin! How many times do I have to say that?"

"So? Natalia tried to ask Ivan to the dance!"

"Well, that's different. I'm not into incest, Alfred."

Alfred smiled intently, his lip curled into a dastard smile, "What are you into then, Iggy?"

I felt my face redden but I kept my eyes glued to his face. In all honesty, I wanted to scream "YOU!" and kiss him senseless, but I wasn't that kind of guy to anything like that.

I kept my tone coy, "Oh, you know, the usual. Smart types with a big… vocabulary. Will not object to someone athletic, good sense of humor, and a little _independent_." If that wasn't a huge hint, I don't know what was. We were still gliding aimlessly across the floor before he responded.

"In all honesty, Iggy, I don't think those kind of girls go for piercings," he winked.

Damn.

"Oh…" I took the hand off of his waist and reached towards my right earlobe. "You saw that?"

"Three? One in your right ear, one in your left cartilage, and one in your lip?"

"Four, actually," I blushed to the roots of my hair and looked down at our feet. "Used to have a bar in my eyebrow.

Silence filled the void while we kept gliding on the floor. Suddenly I heard a soft laugh followed by a playful, "Kinky. Anything else?"

I looked up to stare at him with wide eyes, his mouth was curled into a smirk that sent my heart racing again.

"I have a tat… On my back. It's two crossed swords with a Jolly Roger hanging off of one and a Union Jack off of the other, I confessed, feeling like some Catholic school girl talking to her priest.

He started probing me with more questions and before long, I was revealing things to him that barely anyone knew. My parents had still yet to find out about the second, third, fourth piercings, and the tattoo. It'd be hard to believe that straight-laced people like that would ever approve of such deviant things.

Questions flew, answers were given, and answers were explained for the next half an hour. Apparently he liked the idea that at one time or another I'd worn tighter clothes, something about me being more popular with the "chicks" if I had, and that he could see me as a punk more than a scholar. He said it completely embodied me with my loner personality and commanding air. I took it as a compliment whether it was or not.

Something I did learn about him was that he _really_ was independent. As soon as he started getting it, he started to try and lead. But I was sort of enjoying my position as leader so I wasn't about to give it up that easily which lead to problems. It was a wonder we didn't reach a stand still sooner. Finally, tired of me leading, he just stood still in the middle of the room forcing me to stop as well. For the longest time we stared intently at the other, silently arguing over which of us was really in charge.

It suddenly dawned on me what was going on and I withdrew, releasing his waist and hand, taking a step backwards.

"Call it a morning, alrigh'?"

"Fine by me," he murmured quietly. "Same time next Saturday? You can teach me the flair-y stuff then, right?"

I nodded my head, feeling like I lost my teacher status a bit. "Sure, uh… I'll see you later, kay? I need to talk to the guidance counsellor about graduation."

"Oh," the American nodded his head, murmuring a good-bye then leaving the room.

Once I heard the front door shut, I nearly started screaming. Was I really that much of a prat? I'd spent what should have been an innocent afternoon teaching a friend to dance, fanning the flame of a relationship that was never going to happen. I'd flirted with the boy! Not only that, I think I'd pretty much groped him a few times (by accident, of course) while I was teaching him to dance. What kind of person did that?

"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it to hell!"

"Dude, are you okay?"

Staring at me with that all too familiar expression that made it clear he'd thought I'd gone round the twist, Alfred just gaped at me.

"I... uh..." _How was I planning to get out of this?_ "Stubbed my toe... And it hurt like bleeding hell...?"

"Oh," the American shouldered his forgotten backpack, still staring at me. "Where I come from, people don't usually clutch at their head and jump up and down when they hurt their foot. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Peachy," I grimaced.

"Mkay." He was half-way out the door when he paused. "Arthur?"

Rather surprised he used, let alone remembered my first name, I was stunned silent.

"You know how you said you weren't going to the prom? Well... Would you go as my..." he turned to look at me, his eyes pleading to know what he meant. When I was still incapable of speech, he started gesturing wildly with his hand as if looking for the right word.

"Confidant?" I offered, "Moral support?"

"Uhm... Yeah, of course," his smile faltered a bit. "I'm nervous about the whole asking a person to the dance so I decided to wait until then and... Well, you don't mind, right?"

I gave a feeble smile, feeling my resolve crumble under his pitiable blue faze. Those eyes would be the death of me.

"Sure, why not? One night of no studying won't kill me."

I expected a lax thanks and to be left alone, so the strong arms hugging my torso caught me utterly off guard and I found myself leaning into his embrace.

"Dude, you're the totally coolest best friend ever. I don't know what I'd do without you," he gushed.

Even after the boy left, I could hear his words echo in my skull and feel the lasting impression they left on me.

"Best friends, huh?" I guess I could live with that.

**YAOI MOMENT! **

**Sorry, that was just... After a million chapters of having very limited or no flirting, I kind of went a little overboard. I will admit that I love Teacher!England and so I couldn't resist having him be a little rough around the edges. And then Alfred being all flirty and sexy was just the icing on the cake. I do love Alfred's little parts here though; makes me happy.**

**So the next part should be up next week. Until then, keep it real and keep it fictioning!**


	7. Shall We Dance?

_**Fanfiction Name**__: Proms, Pubs, and Roommates_

_**Chapter Name**__: Shall We Dance?_

_**Chapter Summary**__: The whole school has been preparing for the Summer Gala and Arthur isn't sure how the night's going to end. But when Arthur finds out who Alfred planned on asking to the dance, he's in for a huge surprise._

_**Genre**__: T Romance/Humour_

_**Author's Note**__: This is the last chapter of Proms, Pubs and Roommates. I hope you've enjoyed the story thus far and enjoy the this last chapter. Thank you all for reading =]_

_No, I don't own Hetalia. If I didn't own it then, I certainly don't own it now._

As I stood in the bathroom trying to take out my lip ring, I attempted to recall what exactly I was doing. For some reason, I'd allowed myself to get roped into going to the Summer Gala. And that meant I had to look at least somewhat presentable.

I'd done my best to tame my erratic blond hair, which I failed miserably at; take out most of my piercings, minus my earring; and then trying to hide my tattoo under a darker dress shirt. I guess I didn't look bad, maybe I'd go as far as to say I looked kind of good in a casual-hobo sort of way. I wasn't the type to dress to impress except, now, I was trying to impress.

"This is going to suck bollocks," I groaned to the hopeless man in the mirror. We were both equally dreading the night ahead and we were only going because Alfred asked. And, because it was Alfred asking, we'd go.

By six o'clock I'd become part of the pulsating mass signing into the dance hall. Girls and blokes alike were chatting happily about heaven knows what. I'd become lulled into complacency when a distinct and heavily-accented feminine voice caught my attention.

"Arthur Kirkland. What a pleasant surprise."

Elizaveta Hedervary smiled warmly at me, her date and long-time boyfriend, Roderich Edelstein, in tow. At one point and time I'd had a rather large crush on the Hungarian representative but I'd been wise not to act on it. Roderich, while quiet and peaceable usually, took any movements on Elizaveta seriously. While he wasn't the more forward with his feelings for her, he made it obvious that he was deeply cared for her and she him.

"The same to you, Elizaveta. Good evening to you too, Roderich."

The Austrian returned the quiet greeting before seeming to tune himself out. Elizaveta however became more attentive, her eyes radiated with excitement.

"So, do you have a date, Arthur?"

I shook my head in what I hoped was a lax manner, "No, I'm here alone."

"What about Alfred?"

"Come now, Elizaveta, you know I don't swing that way." Lie number one. I could feel the heat pool into my face.

"Oh! Really? I had no idea!" The innocent curiosity was as blatant of a lie as my own.

I sighed heavily, "Why do you ask?"

She smiled softly, leaning in towards me which made Roderich seem a little more alert. "Can you keep a secret?" she asked of me.

When I nodded my head she lowered her voice and leaned closer, "I see the way you two look at each other. First time I've ever seen you be that gentle with anyone other than Ria and at least he does it back to you. Of course, there's also the way you're always laughing when you're with him and the way that he tunes everyone else out whenever you enter a room. But then there's…"

I'd long since tuned out what she said and started thinking about what she meant. Could she actually mean that he liked—No! That was… All those times they spent working for a girl Alfred was asking out. And yet, Arthur's mind wondered, was it possible…?

When it seemed to click in her head that I'd gotten her point, she straightened up and tightened her hold on Roderich's arm. A wide smile broke as she added, "All I'm saying to you is to try your hand, might just get lucky. The world could use a little more love in it."

Usually I'd have argued that it was impossible but for once I let the idea settle. Love…

The future prom king and queen turned to leave when Roderich gave me a twisted smile and the longest sentence he'd ever said towards me, "Best of luck to you, Mr. Kirkland."

.

I never had understood why people were so enamored with dances and such and, standing off to the side of the Gala hall, I still didn't understand. Girls dressed in their most stunning stood in packs, whispering amongst themselves while staring at boys around the room in their own cliques. A few couples swayed back and forth on the polish wood floor while a live band crooned out a steady tune that sounded suspiciously of Beethoven. Late stragglers glided into the room in pairs or groups, separating to join friends, dance, or find a seat at one of the many the white-clothed tables.

The room was nice, I supposed. Gold, white, and blue balloons and streamers floated overhead in tight sectors. The only space of visible ceiling was the two feet radius that surrounded an elaborate chandelier pointing down to the exact center of the room. One half of the area was laid out with a raised stage for performers and hardwood flooring for dancing. Ceiling-to-floor glass windows covered the far wall where an outdoor balcony was visible along with a picturesque view of the ocean and nearby port village. The setting sun illuminated the room in various hues of reds, oranges, and lilacs giving the room a kaleidoscope effect.

The longer I stood back, the more people I began to recognize. Ivan had chosen to wear his military uniform, adorned with more pendants than I'd have expected to see on someone that young. Sitting to his direct right was his beautiful date Wang Yao, dressed in something a little more traditional with her dark hair pinned back with chopsticks. At first I was surprised not to see Ivan's sister Natalia until I heard the venomous hiss from my immediate right. Anxious to get away from the fuming sister or else risk be pinned as an accessory to murder, I navigated through the swarming crowd looking for a familiar face. Twice I ran into Ria who was doing her best to avoid my eyes as she clung to the arm of some pleased Middle Eastern boy. I was starting to think it'd be best to go hide in a bathroom until a hand firmly grabbed my bicep and dragged me away.

"Get off me, you twit!"

I attempted in vain to see my captor but the blurring faces around me prevented such things. But as the mob thinned out, I could see coiffed and golden hair.

_Damn French Bastard._

"_Bonjour, mon ami_!" he beamed and released my arm to slide it around the shoulders of his date, Matthew. The Frenchman and Canadian were dressed similarly. Francis wore a blood red shirt that appeared black against the white tux jacket. A blooming red rose was pinned to the lapel in a way that was purely French. Matthew stood beside him dressed a lot less flashy. He fiddled absent-mindedly with the cuffs on his red dress shirt, similar to his date.

"Evening, Arthur," the Canadian smiled warmly. "You look nice."

"Thank you. You as well," I attempted to copy with warmth in his voice despite my obvious lack of enthusiasm.

"_Mon petite __chérie_ noticed you in the crowd so I thought we'd rescue you before you got too lost, non?"

"I s'ppose I should thank you. Was trying to escape Natalia," I confessed with a shudder.

Francis chuckled and nodded his head, "She was anything but happy about her brother's choice in a date. Speaking of which, where is yours?"

I felt the two men staring pointedly at me and I did my best to avoid their gaze.

"Don't have one."

"Ohhonhonhonhonhon! Okay then, why are you here? I find it hard to believe you would shirk off a night of studying without a motive."

"Who says I need a motive?" I demanded. "Maybe I'm just here to enjoy the night and— Oi! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The Frenchman spun me around, grabbed my shoulders and smiled, "_Excusez-moi__, __l'Angleterre_," before shoving me forward. Like a rocket, I shot forward, as my feet caught on a fallen napkin and all thought of normal movement ceased. Couples flew out of my way as I coursed across the floor. Suddenly, a pair of arms seized my waist and stopped my eminent fall.

"Way to make an entrance, "Alfred chuckled and helped me to my feet. His blue eyes glittered with amusement that faded to amazement which coloured my cheeks significantly.

"Damn… You sure know how to clean up well."

I could have said the exact same thing if my mouth had been operable at the moment. It was rather daunting how a man who was sexy when he was relaxed could look so damn good when he tried. His hair wasn't slicked back or anything, still falling into those eyes of his but there was a rather noticeable difference; he had washed his hair. His clothes were clean and pressed and showed a more mature side I'd only caught in glimpses. It was almost amusing to see how patriotic his clothes still were with his navy blue trousers, white dress shirt, blue jacket and that infamous red tie of his. With all the colours around, I felt a little out of place in classic black and white.

"Thank you," I managed to choke out when I found the ability to speak again.

Alfred smile, nodding his head a bit, "Wanna find a table?"

Incidentally Francis and Matthew appeared from seemingly nowhere informing us they saved us a place at their table along with the Vargas brothers and their dates.

Dinner was surprisingly peaceful, only disturbed by Lovino and Feliciano's criticisms and Francis trying to play footsie with that wrong North American delegate then blaming it all on me. Aside from that, it was nice. Even the blatant disregard from most of the dance seemed bearable. I hadn't even noticed it until I heard someone that sounded like Ria murmur something about a "gay table." None but Alfred, who turned an impeccable shade of violet, and myself seemed to have heard it.

Once dessert had been served and devoured, tentative couples took their places on the dance floor. Before long Alfred and I were left alone at the table. A few songs fluttered past, ushered along with awkward conversation.

"So where's this mysterious girl of yours?" I ventured after another awkward pause.

"Oh. Probably somewhere up there."

"You going to ask her to dance?"

The American shook his head fervently, "No."

"And why not?" I practically snarled, glaring at him. There was no way he was chickening out now.

After another few moments of silence he dared to look up at me, "I'm afraid I'll mess up," he confessed.

Against my will, I could feel my heart softening under his pitiable gaze.

"You'll be fine. You're Alfred F. Jones; the F stands for fearless," I smiled encouragingly.

A dark blush coloured his pale cheeks as laughed weakly. His blue eyes were glued to the floor as he spoke again.

"Can I ask you one last favor, Iggy? Can you practice with me one more time?"

Even as I said the work 'yes', I knew it was a bad idea. But despite that, we walked onto the floor and as we had so many times before we fell into place. Alfred gripped my shoulder and I let my hand rest on his waist. It didn't take long for him to fall into the easy rhythm of the slow three-four time. Every once in awhile I'd throw in a spin or stretch him back out and in to keep him on his toes. But it seemed that every time I did, the space between us closed. Before long, I could feel his heart beat racing along with mine and, unlike people say, it's just plain eerie.

By the third song, Alfred started fighting again for dominance that I wasn't ready to give up. Because as soon as I did, I'd lose him; he'd be ready to move on. I was nearly kicking and pulling him along which made him smile and my heart speed up. Within a few seconds he just stopped like before, staring intently into my eyes. His mouth quirked into a smile, waiting to see my reaction.

Whether it was the light-as-air feeling he was radiating, the fact I was feeling rather reckless, or maybe the idea I wouldn't have another chance like this, I can't honestly say. But for some reason my heart told me head and my body obeyed. Without much of a warning, my hand on his waist transferred to his tie and I pulled him down. Before he could react I pressed my lips fervently against his, ceasing any verbal reaction.

In all honesty, I hadn't been sure what to expect when I kissed him. I'd kissed several girls in my life but kissing him was certainly new. His taste was comparable to his smell in that it was wild and tame; bitter and sweet. The more of it I received, the more I wanted. His mouth was closed but in a flurry of emotions, I refused to let it stay that way. I released the hold on his hand and wound it around his neck, dragging him down to my level. Once I was in a better position for leverage, I gave a playful nip at his bottom lip. The American gasped and I seized my chance, letting my tongue explore his mouth.

He'd probably kill me when his brain caught up, I reasoned. After all, I was pretty much mouth raping him. In part I waited for him to shove me off, except he didn't. In fact he did the opposite as his arm snaked around my torso and the other slid down to my hips, catching a firm grip on my arse.

I had pulled backwards in surprise, shock and lack of air only to have Alfred reclaim my mouth. His tongue ran across the top of my mouth, earning him an embarrassingly loud moan from me. I could feel the side of his mouth quirk into yet another smile. In a fight for dominance, I released his tie and held tight to his bicep, directing him a little more. His lower hand gave an appreciative squeeze, sending me a little closer into him. For awhile longer we tasted and explored without qualms. Unfortunately we forgot where we were. A pair of beefy hands wedged between, sending us sprawling backwards.

"ABSTINENCE!"

Mother Olga glared at us with her beady, dark eyes and her mouth set into a thin line. Our head chaperone, the school guidance councilor, and the biggest prude to ever grace the world, no one dared to disobey her because they feared what she'd do to them. She was the kind of woman who could easily out wrestle any man if she didn't eat him first.

"What do you think you two are doing? And you, Mr. Kirkland, the valedictorian should know better. And you, Mr. Jones! We let you into this school on a scholarship, didn't we? Your brother too! And we let you excel up this far on one condition. I'd certainly have expected better of you two. I never! Why, when I'm through with you—"

Her building lecture was interrupted by a soft, throaty voice. It was a whisper but the words "students," "hedge," and "alone" could be picked out with ease. Mother Olga's face lit up and she flew from the room like a hound on a rabbit's trail. In the place where she'd been before beamed one Francis Bonnefoy. He gave us a subtle wink before turning to the crowd and announcing them to return to what they'd had been doing before.

I casted a side glance at my roommate whose face was beet red and looked rather breathless (not that I probably looked any better). Millions of question tallied up in my head that wanted answers now. Without another thought, I was dragging him from the room by the sleeve of his jacket.

"Damn, Iggy, slow down, will ya?"

Only when we reached the abandoned band room did I release his sleeve. The force threw him back into the percussion and by a miracle his arse landed on a percussion stool. Alfred stared at me with a raised eyebrow and an apprehensive look, as if he was trying to decipher whether or not I was planning on continuing from earlier or not.

While I'd have liked (loved) to continue mapping out his mouth, my mind was too bogged down with questions.

"What was that?" I finally choked out.

Alfred shrugged his shoulders, "Considering you kiss me, I'd like to know that too."

I opened my mouth to give what was promising to be a fiery and brilliant retort but I snapped it shut when I realized I didn't have one.

"Okay. Let's start with the small questions. Why tonight?" he asked calmly, his breathing back down to normal.

I ran a hand through my hair as I leaned back against the wall facing him.

"I dun't know. Just sort of happened. Believe me, I didn't plan this."

"Well, if I'd known you were into guys, I might have. I just assumed you were straight."

"I was, you wanker," I growled at him.

I watched with a chagrin expression as the boy's face lit up like a firework. "I'm your first? That's rather flattering! You certainly know how to make a guy feel good."

I'd loved to have slapped that smug expression off his face. Instead I just kept talking.

"Am I yours?"

"Might as well be," he confessed. "Never really did anything about it back home. They're all kind of weird about it back home."

"Same here."

Silence.

"I could have sworn you were straight though," I added.

"Not quite," he winked (I practically felt my heart jump into my throat) and leaned forward a bit. "What made you think that though?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. " 'There's a girl I want to ask to the dance.' That kind of says straight."

"Actually, Iggy, I never said girl; I was careful to always say person."

"Still," I growled. "Then there's how you reacted when I said Feli and Ludqig were boyfriend and… other."

Alfred rubbed the back of his neck, a little embarrassed himself, "I didn't think they liked it here."

I gave a half smirk, recalling the loud catcalls from Eliza and Kiku (they were always into this kind of stuff), "Obviously they don't mind it."

"Except Mother Olga." Alfred puffed his cheeks out and started wagging his finger angrily, muttering in a terrible Russian accent. I couldn't help it but I busted out laughing. After the whole night, I needed something ridiculous to just completely laugh at.

"So, you like me?" Alfred began once I calmed down.

I nodded my head.

"And you like me?"

Alfred gave a timid nod with a wide smile.

"Just wondering. How long?"

Alfred raised his voice into a terrible falsetto while draping his hand over his forehead dramatically, "Oh months and centuries and decades and—"

"Belt up, you git," I snorted. "I'm being serious."

He flashed me a cheeky smile before answering quietly. "February."

"Really? And you didn't pick up on me flirting?"

"You were being obvious!" he answered defensively.

"_Independent_, you prat! I like _independent_. What did you bloody buggers declare from us?"

"Oh, I'm sorry but history doesn't come to mind when I'm flirting with someone."

I gave an embarrassed sounding laugh as he continued, "And you're calling me thick? I grabbed your ass during a lesson!"

"I thought you missed my hip," I flushed, remembering that day back in there only three weeks prior. I'd been trying to teach him how to spin a person.

"And me purring into your ear? Opening doors for you? Calling your darling several times? Me giving you my jacket and—"

"Okay, okay, I get is," I snapped. "I suck at flirting and need to work on recognizing it."

I looked up at and he was smiling broadly, walking towards me.

"What?"

"You're so damn cute when you're flustered," he answered, boxing me in with his arms.

I looked away from him at the ceiling before muttering back, "Then I must be bleeding sexy right now."

"Mhm."

I could feel my face heat up as he started to nibble on my ear. Goosebumps flew across my skin and I fought back the weird noises I was trying to make.

"Oh, so you like biting," he purred. "I will definitely keep that in mind."

"Not so fast, cowboy," I murmured and pushed him back to arms length. "It'd be rather easy of me to just let you in that quickly, wouldn't it?"

Alfred rolled his eyes and gave the most atrocious snorting sound I'd ever heard. "We've liked each other for months and whether you like it or not, I'm planning on finishing that kiss you started. Besides you owe it to me; you practically left me hanging."

I bit back a smirk before pulling him in by his tie once more. "Okay, just saying." I murmured before kissing him again.

Maybe prom wasn't so bad.

**IT'S OVER!**

**It's kind of sad for me but I'm very happy because this is the first story I've ever completed! =]**

**Thank you all for your reviews, favorites, and following. It's made this a very fun story to write and you guys have literally made this so much fun for me!**

**I'm so sorry it took this long to post up this part but I'm working on my summer project (another UkUs) so that took priority. But I felt I needed to finish this story and today felt like as good a day as any!**

**So Happy Birthday, Alfred and thank you to you all for everything!**

**If you caught the "West Side Story" reference, I'll love you forever**

**Mother Olga is an original character one of my best friends and I came up with**

**As always, love you guys and thank you again so much. **


	8. Epilogue  7 Years Later

_**Fanfiction Name**__: Proms, Pubs, and Roommates_

_**Chapter Name**__: Epilogue: Seven Years Later_

_**Chapter Summary**__: How Arthur and Alfred's lives turned out several years later. _

_**Genre**__: T Romance/Humor_

_**Author's Note**__: Okay, I know I said that chapter before was the last one but I lied. =/=_

_I got the inspiration for this little snippet so I hope you enjoy the LAST (I promise it's the last) chapter of Proms, Pubs, and Roommates_

"Arthur, where do you think you're going? You have all these papers to look through! Arthur, listen to me when I'm talking to you!"

I was half-way to the door when I caught the wheezing man finally caught up to me. I had been so close…

"Prime Minister, it's the weekend; go home. There's nothing there that can't wait until Wednesday when I get back. Now," I picked up the jacket off the rack and smiled, "I'll see you next week."

The Prime Minister gaped and darted after the escaping man, bumbling out excuses.

Halfway down the front steps and to the cab, I paused and turned around to face him, "I'm sorry, sir, but I have a plane to catch."

It'd been hours before when I left the Prime Minister's office for the airport yet I kept playing over the scene my head with a raw sense of satisfaction. I needed a vacation, I reasoned, and an excuse to get Grubsy off of my back. However that didn't quell the knots in my stomach; I was in trouble when I got back, that was obvious.

But as I stared out at the window at the dark night sky, my mind began to flit back to more important things.

Six months. That'd been how ling since I'd seen my long-time boyfriend and fellow delegate. The past few years had seen them at regular intervals at either mine or my boyfriend's house. But as the problems in the Middle East, political affairs and economic issues, politics had sucked up our lives.

We spent hours on the phone, letter and emails were frequent, and more than once we'd attempted to Skype but nothing could replace being with each other in the flesh.

By the time the plane landed in the Dulles International Airport, my stomach was threatening to pitch itself. I had no idea why I was that nervous; I'd seen him loads of times and it honestly wasn't any different than my other trips.

The walk off the plan to the tram and then to baggage did hardly enough for my cramped legs. Considering we had landed ahead of schedule, I thought we might have time to walk it off.

I took a step down the sloping path as the door opened and a man stepped inside. We both paused to look at the other, a little surprised at first. Taking a few hesitant steps towards the other, we only stopped when it was certain who the other was. Forgetting my duffel, I came at him at a run. My boyfriend caught me, wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted me clear off the ground. Any other time I'd have yelled at him, telling him I wasn't a girl but I was too happy to even care.

Silent laughter passed between us as we held onto the other for dear life. Slowly he set me back down but refused to release his hold on my waist.

"Six months really is too long," he breathed into my ear.

Shivers cascaded down my spine as I buried my face into his old bomber jacket. It still reeked of musk, his favorite cologne, sweat, and cooking grease; it still smelled like him.

"Too long," I agreed, snaking my hands around his waist. I bit back a smile as my finger brushed against the waist band of his Wrangler jeans; I always liked how his arse looked in them.

The American curled involuntarily into my hands and I couldn't help but laugh.

"Someone's missed me."

"Hell yes," he replied and slowly began to move along my neck, alternating between kisses and nips.

"Alfred, really!" I could feel my face heat. "We're in public!"

"Didn't stop you the first time," he murmured into my neck. My cheeks were practically burning as I pulled away to look at him.

"That's different," I pouted.

"How so?" His cerulean eyes glittered with affection. He looked so innocent sometimes that I almost believed it.

"Because I started it," I teased, planting a chaste kiss on his lips.

Alfred brought me tight against his chest, pressing his lips to mine, "This change, old man." With surreal ease, he picked up my bag with one arm and wrapped the other around me.

Outside the airport summer was in full bloom, making me wonder how Alfred could handle that insufferable bomber jacket. By the time we reached his self-proclaimed "sexy sportscar" he was starting to sweat.

"Are you going to take that off?"

"Would you like the honors?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Crass," I replied, climbing into the passenger's seat. "I didn't mean it like that. Besides, we're in a public parking garage."

"How is that any different than Francis' driveway?"

The American threw me a cheeky smile as I glared at him. Slowly he backed out of the lot and towards the exit.

"There's plenty of difference," I muttered. "For one, I was drunk."

"Drunk, missing me; same song."

I leaned back into the leather seats, a smile on my face. I'd missed this.

"Moron."

"Be that as it may," he whispered and leaned towards me, kissing my cheek affectionately, "I'm your git."

It'd taken years of experience with him to resist the urge to gag at his cheesy Hollywood lines. They were awful and I hated them with a burning passion, almost as much as I hated American coffee.

I fought off the blush, turning my head and giving him another chaste kiss,

"And I wouldn't have it any other way."

**Okay, I lied. It needed an epilogue and so I wrote it xP**

**Okay, now it's over and now you all can go back to your regular lives.**

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